


crash test cars

by bxton



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Based on the JLU ep where Bruce has to sing, Bruce is a singer in a dive bar, Clark is the bartender that falls in love with him, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 07:30:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11686929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bxton/pseuds/bxton
Summary: -- this unspoken thing weighing heavy between two men; one who spends a majority of his time with a fake smile, preaching broken hearts into an old microphone like his life depends on it- the other hidden behind a sweet face and sweeter Kansas drawl, cleaning dirty beer mugs like it's his calling.(bruce wayne is a singer in a dive bar. clark kent is the idiot that falls in love with him.)





	crash test cars

**Author's Note:**

> i am a big boss baby bitch that couldn't resist this AU.
> 
> my twitter: @ALlANOVNAS
> 
> this shit is dedicated to my sweetheart AJ, who motivates me to write just by talking to me.
> 
> (also keep in mind this is my first work in the whole superbat pairing so .... take it easy on me??)

 

 

"Do you ever feel like you're missing something, Mr. Wayne?"

  
Bruce takes a sip of his whiskey- this thick brand, it burns in the back of Clark's throat. He wonders what his kisses taste like. "All the time, doll."

  
Clark takes to wipe down the rest of the dirty glasses. The bar is busy today, but Clark feels like they're the only two left. There's something about Bruce Wayne's voice that leaves Clark breathless. He sings songs as if he went through the pain the writer did. He's just a boy from Kansas, though- what does he know about that? Bruce Wayne is wearing the finest suit, hair peppered with gray combed back into a nice style that Clark wants to run his fingers through. Is his hair as silky as it looks? Is his body sharp around the edges, faint traces of scarring? Bruce raises his hand, and Clark can see age-old bumps and injuries in his skin. "I'll clean that up."

 

  
Gotham is dirty at night, with molding alleyways and strangers prowling around each corner. Clark only comes here for the job. He rarely ever stays for the scenery. "You here every night?" Bruce asks. It's his third drink of the night, Clark will have to cut him off soon. "Haven't noticed you around."  
Clark has definitely noticed Bruce. A sultry voice breaking through the usual murmurs of bar patrons, caressing the microphone like it's something precious. He sways just slightly with the music. Older, Clark notices, but the spark of emotion lies clear in soft cerulean eyes. Tailored suits that hug his frame nice, chewed down nails that drag along a stand. Clark has noticed him the same way everyone else has. You don't come to The Joker's unless you're searching for someone you don't know you need. ( _The name of this little place never fails to make him laugh. There was a woman, blonde little thing, that bought it out with her sweetheart. She had told Clark when he asked about the name; "I used to date this guy that'd beat me black an' blue." She took a drag from her cigarette. "Met sweet Ivy over there- thought we'd name this dump after him. Aren't we just the sweetest, Mr. Kent?"_

 

 _"Yes, Ma'am. The sweetest."_ )

 

 

"I work here." Clark barely pays him any mind. These dishes won't wash on their own. "I'm usually a hit with the ladies." By ladies, he means the beloved Lois Lane. She always has her arm draped around another woman- but she'll sweet talk Clark until he offers some free drinks.

   
Bruce looks like he's about to say something-- his mouth is open, hand stretched out to ask for another drink-- but the music is picking up again and he offers Clark one last smile, something that feels more like an " _I'll see you soon,_ " rather than a goodbye.

 

  
( _Something is unspoken between them, hanging in the balance of something Clark can't name, hidden under the smell of beer on tap and strong cigars. It resonates inside him, this unspoken thing weighing heavy between two men; one who spends a majority of his time with a fake smile, preaching broken hearts into an old microphone like his life depends on it- the other hidden behind a sweet face and sweeter Kansas drawl, cleaning dirty beer mugs like it's his calling._ )  
Bruce is standing on stage, singing sweetly, and Clark feels himself falling in love all over again. " _Am I blue_?" --it's the question, isn't it? The way Bruce looks as much the heartbroken fool as it suggests, those hard blue eyes softening. Clark has never been a music guy. Believe him, he never has. But Bruce sings like his heart is breaking with every word. " _Am I blue_?"

 

  
"He's a looker, isn't he?" Lois' voice rings out over Bruce's gentle singing. "Most people come here to see him."

 

"Yeah.." Clark hums, considering. "He's a looker, alright."

 

 

  
Clark is not obsessed. 

He is _not obsessed._

 

His bed feels too uneven like there's something fastened underneath the covers. Christ, forgive him, he can't get Bruce out of his head. Bruce Wayne. Just his name leaves Clark excited. _Bruce Wayne. Clark Wayne. Bruce Kent--_

Get a hold of yourself, Kent.

 

 _Bruce_.

 

 _Oh_ , oh, Clark is in love. He's had that song stuck in his head ever since he left the bar, singing it under his breath as he dealt with the commute to Metropolis. He wants to get a place out in Gotham, if only for his new enchantment for Bruce Wayne. This-- feeling, in his chest, is this what love is? Seeing your soulmate sing his heart out in a little bar and feeling like those words were written just for you, your name signed in the center of them like a brand?  
This-- this might be love.

He's awake all night. Tossing, turning. Bruce is so clear in the back of his mind, a brand Clark couldn't get rid of even if he wanted to. Damn the other boys to Hell, damn everyone else.

 

  
Clark does trivial things, little habits that he doesn't pay too much mind to until it comes up later-- a conversation with Lois will get him realizing it. He goes to the grocery store and only picks drinks that have blue on them, anywhere. He goes to the library and will only check out books that look more worn down, pages ripped or stained with God knows what.  
He wonders, just to himself, if Bruce would enjoy his habits.

   
He ponders this as he's stuck behind the bar for another night, awaiting the arrival of his new favorite thing. It's already 10 PM. He's scared Bruce won't show this time and he'll be stuck with the loud men trying to get his number, the women showing him their breasts for free drinks.

  
                                                     ( _Once upon a time, there was a man with a smile as bright as the sun. He fell in love with another man, who thought he had to live in the dark._

_"I love you, Clark Kent;" It's an alleyway, it shouldn't be this romantic. Yet Clark can't think of anything better. His arms are wrapped tight and safe around him, swaying gently to the melody he's humming out, "horribly, painfully, irreversibly."_

_Clark's face is buried in his neck. He can smell nice cologne-- something on the pricey side? How did he get that money? Does he want to know? Nonetheless, he smiles. That big, Clark Kent smile that usually leaves you wanting more. He hopes he wants more. "I love you, Bruce Wayne; for as long as I'll live."_ )

 

"You shouldn't zone out like that." Clark doesn't need to look up to see who this is-- that voice memorized in his head. Deep, rich, please sing again? "Someone could sneak up behind you and steal something."

 

One brow raised, Clark turns to Bruce. He's dressed up again today, looking like he's going to some charity ball rather than a dusty old stage. Around them, the lights flicker. Clark's world closes in. It's just them now. Bruce reaches out, hand brushing against his, and makes his way around the bar. He's moving slowly-- he looks like an animal about to catch its prey-- and Clark is entranced. Each step he takes has Clark's heart beating faster.

  
Bruce's hand rests on the spot next to him, and Clark is trapped between his arms. "You look like you could use a drink, doll."

He-- "I--" Clark has never been known for anything clever. He always chokes up before he can say anything. "Mr. Wayne?"

 

Just like that, Bruce is gone again. Clark mourns the loss of his body heat, trying, and failing, to not make that obvious.


End file.
